The League of Doom did not gather for personal matters.

They gathered for war. For strategy. For the dismantling of anything that stood in their way.

Which was why this—

This was unprecedented.

Lex stood at the center of the room, composed as ever, hands clasped behind his back like this was just another meeting.

It wasn’t.

Not even close.

“…This is a controlled situation,” he said.

A pause.

No one believed him.

Around the room—

The Joker was far too entertained, grinning like this was the best event he’d ever been invited to, while Harley Quinn hovered nearby with chaotic enthusiasm.

Poison Ivy looked like the only one with actual common sense, already directing people like she’d decided she was in charge.

Black Manta stood off to the side, arms crossed, silent but present.

Captain Cold looked deeply uncomfortable.

The Riddler was asking entirely unhelpful questions.

Scarecrow was observing with unsettling interest.

Cheetah paced like she was waiting for a fight that wasn’t coming.

Giganta kept accidentally hitting things just by existing.

Solomon Grundy stood near the door, confused but committed.

Sinestro looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

Gorilla Grodd stood perfectly still, watching everything with intense focus.

And—

Brainiac was already analyzing the situation like it was data to be cataloged.

Lex exhaled slowly.

“…You are all here,” he said, voice measured, controlled, “because you chose to be.”

A pause.

Another—

Louder this time.

He adjusted his cuff.

“…Then remain useful,” Lex added. “Or remain silent.”

Because if they were going to stand there—

If all of them were going to stay—

Then this would be handled.

Properly.